


That Time Bitty Punched a Politician

by MaraMcGregor



Series: Adventures with Baked Potatoes [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Hijinks & Shenanigans, Homophobic Language, M/M, Patriot Act, politician
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 12:09:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16810306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaraMcGregor/pseuds/MaraMcGregor
Summary: Tater and Bitty have been married for several months. And it's wonderful. It really is. They have a beautiful apartment and the support of both US Figure Skating and the Falconers. It doesn't stop them from somehow running across small minded politicians.In the same 'verse as Gold Medal Bets.





	That Time Bitty Punched a Politician

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my lovely beta nerdflighter for looking this over and cleaning it up!

They had been married for 6 months. And really, everything was delightful. Bitty was very popular with the SOAPs and there hadn’t been _too_ much blow back from the fans. There were the obligatory homophobes that tried to stir up a boycott and insist that they wouldn’t bring their kids. Because somehow, having a player that was married to another man was worse for your child to see than multiple men beating the living daylights out of each other over some infraction on someone’s honor. Bitty didn’t get it, and he knew that he never would at this point. His job was to sit in the stands with the SOAPs, smile, and wave. And when he wasn’t doing that, his job was to perfect his routine and destroy the rest of the competition with his flawless figure skating.

So, being young, in love, and at the peak of their careers was really something. But their hectic schedules had Bitty and Tater in knots. Both of them were on the ice constantly, risking injury each time they laced up their skates. Tater’s just happened to be more obviously violent. And deliberately homophobic. The previous night’s game had ended in overtime because some jerk with too much testosterone and too fragile of masculinity, decided that Tater needed to be tripped and shoved head first into the boards.

Bitty thanked his lucky stars that Tater was fine and had nothing more than a cut on his cheek from his visor. But, it did lead to stress baking. He couldn’t take out his frustrations on social media, he couldn’t yell about homophobia in sports to most of the press, and Tater hadn’t done anything to deserve Bitty’s current mood. When Tater had come home, he had given him a kiss on the cheek, and told him that Svechnikov hit like a baby and that his babushka spanked him harder when he was four.

Bitty didn’t really have it in him to unpack all of that; so, he did what he always did when his emotions and brain got the better of him. The kitchen was covered in flour and various pie tins. The apple was cooling, the pecan was in the oven, and he was getting ready to prepare the blueberry filling. They had, in his humble opinion, far too many blueberries in the apartment. But, he would never deny his husband the small joys of blueberry muffins, or waffles, or pancakes - or anything, really.

He reached over to grab the bowl he had pre-measured, and found empty air. That brought him just a bit out of his state. Enough for his brain to pause for the slightest of moments. Bitty started mumbling to himself about losing his head if it wasn’t screwed on as he lifted dish towels and moved pots and bowls around. It was when he was spinning around in circles that he saw a stray blueberry on the ground. Then another one.

He followed the trail of blueberries out of the kitchen, down the hallway, and to the master bedroom. He half expected Tater to have stolen them to eat on the bed. Or maybe he was trying to do something sexy? Replacing strawberries with blueberries would be just about right for his husband.

But, no. When he opened the door, his husband wasn’t on the bed. And he was still fully clothed.

“Sweetpea, what are you doing with the blueberries?”

Tater yelped and spun, quickly. “Am doing nothing. Nothing, at all.” He shook his head with a clearly guilty look and backed up towards the balcony, whose sliding glass door was open.

“Honey, I know you love blueberries. But, I was going to make a pie with those. I promise we can pick more up tomorrow.”

Tater continued to back up with his hands behind his back. “Is nothing. Just having some fun.”

“Okay?” Bitty couldn’t stop his eyebrow from raising.

And with that, Tater bumped into something on the ledge of the balcony. He startled and turned around as a crash echoed up from the sidewalk beneath their window.

“What on Earth?”

“Was bored and you didn’t hear me come in. So, thought I would take blueberries and play game until you noticed they were missing. Then you wouldn’t be so lost in head, and we could laugh and go to dinner with light heart.”

“Oh, sweetpea.” Bitty wrapped his arms around his large husband. “You are too adorable and kind-hearted. Now, what was that crash from?”

Bitty looked over the edge and saw a man yelling at what looked to be a horse cop? He was angrily pointing at the ground and then up at their building. As Bitty and Tater looked over the edge of the railing, he pointed directly at them and started yelling. His whole face was turning fuschia. Bitty would have found it hilariously funny if it wasn’t for the fact that he was clearly trying to threaten them with something.

“Let’s just get this cleaned up and we can talk about what we want for dinner after I get the pecan pie out of the oven.”

Bitty grabbed the carton of blueberries and Tater picked up the three remaining glass mason jars. They quietly shut their sliding glass door and made it back to the kitchen.

Tater helped Bitty clean up the baking mess and washed the dishes while Bitty put away the rest of the ingredients. The pecan pie had somewhere between 5 and 10 minutes remaining before it could be pulled out. Just as Bitty was moving the apple pie and its cooling rack to the clean counter, the doorbell rang.

Tater pecked him on the cheek and went to open the door. At least, that’s what Bitty _assumed_ was going on. Except all he heard was a belligerent voice instead of his husband’s normal greeting. And then he heard Tater growl in Russian. Yep, he needed to be at the door instead of taking the time to wash his hands.

He rounded the corner and saw the angry man from the street and a very harried looking police officer still in his helmet and riding boots.

“Goodness. This is no way to approach someone’s door. My mama would have words with you, sir. What is this all about?” Bitty hoped he came off angelic, and just a little bit ignorant (thank goodness some days that people in this area had _opinions_ about Southerners’ intelligence).

“You know exactly what this is about! This, this - _foreigner_ \- tried to assassinate me!”

The police officer rolled his eyes behind the man’s back and interrupted. “Some type of glass fell from a balcony that could be yours. Do you mind if we have a look around?”

Bitty gave them both a smile filled with just slightly too many teeth. “Well, I can see how that might upset someone. However, this is still America, right? And we have this little thing called the Fourth Amendment. I believe that if you would like to search our apartment, you’ll be needing a warrant, and some probable cause that a crime has been committed?”

The stranger started failing his arms, causing his overcoat to flap about with each gesticulation. “You see here! The Patriot Act says that no warrant is required to search the premises within 400 miles of the border. The _entirety_ of Rhode Island is within that 400 miles. And with _him_ -” now he was pointing directly at Tater “- clearly being some foreign agent attempting to assassinate a duly elected American official, there is nothing to violate.”

“I am American citizen. Made oath at naturalization ceremony. Was wonderful day. And husband from Georgia there to see it. Was very proud moment. And Putin is not wanting me back in Russia because he believes there are no gay Russians. Says I make nation look bad for loving best person on planet. Told everyone that Alexei Mashkov not allowed on Russian Olympic team. Which is good. Because I am not a cheat. How do I know you are not working for him? Maybe he hires American politician with bad hair to put blame on famous hockey player.”

The still unnamed politician didn’t take that accusation well. Bitty could see the moment that he decided to do something stupid and tried to get in between him and Tater. Unfortunately, all he got between was the guy’s fist. And it made contact with his face. He felt Tater’s arms go around him as he was picked up and gently placed to the side.

Bitty’s vision was a bit blurry as he tried to stave off what he knew would get them in even deeper trouble.

Tater yelled as the police officer tried to get the politician under control.

Bitty was going to intercept, again. Except that’s when the asshole showed his stripes.

“I am no traitor! Not that a pair of fucking fags like you would know anything about patriotism!”

And that’s when Bitty threw a punch at the guy’s face. He couldn’t quite believe that he had done that. The moment he pulled his hand back, he looked at the cop, shocked. “Um -”

“Okay. That’s it. Everyone sit down.” The cop then pressed the button on his radio pinned to his shoulder and called for assistance.

And that was the moment Bitty smelled his pecan pie burning, immediately followed by the smoke alarm going off. “My pie!”

Several minutes later, two more police officers showed up to find a politician in handcuffs, sitting on the floor of the hallway, screaming about having everyone’s jobs; a large man waving a lace dishcloth at a smoke alarm; and a petite, blonde in near hysterics about his pie. “Domestic dispute?”

“Accusations of assault, actual assault, and retaliation. Just, help me take them all in and we can sort it out at the station.”

The shorter officer waved at the man in handcuffs. “Who gave him the shiner.”

“The blonde.”

“What?”

“Look. Apparently this one is a state rep. And the big one in there is a hockey player. And the blonde is his husband.”

“That’s Alexei Mashkov of the Providence Falconers. He’s married to Eric Bittle. Two time Olympic gold medalist.”

The first officer shook his head and grabbed the politician from the floor. “Well, you picked a fine pair to get into a popularity contest with.”

Bitty refused to leave until the smoke was cleared out of the apartment. Tater refused to cooperate until he was assured that Bitty would be in the same car as him. But, eventually, all three made it to the precinct. Which is where they finally found out the name of the asshole with the gigantic superiority complex. Bitty wished he had his phone to memorialize State Representative Bill Wickers (R-26) getting his mug shot. Except, then he was next. He could see the headlines now. He wanted to cringe when the flash went off, but he managed to refrain until he stepped aside and watched Tater get scolded for throwing peace signs and blowing kisses at the camera. Lord, he needed to call their PR agents. And George. And Katya.

“I don’t care! It’s not my fault that I hit him! They attacked me from their balcony first!”

Bitty turned and looked at the police officer that was guiding him to the holding cell. “So, are we limited to just one phone call apiece? Because we should probably both call our representatives. And he needs to call his AGM. I should also call my coach. Is two phone calls, okay?”

“It’s one phone call. Everyone just gets the one.” She paused and frowned at Wickers. “Even elected officials.”

That threw him into another tantrum.

“Please don’t put us in the same cell. I can’t guarantee that I won’t pop him in the mouth again.”

In the end, Tater used his phone call to get in touch with George, who called both his agent and Jack Zimmermann. Bitty called Katya and explained what happened as best he could in his allotted time.

Wickers was still determined to press charges, even after he was told repeatedly that the first incident was clearly an accident and that he threw the first punch. So, when Bitty’s agent showed up with a lawyer in tow, it got creative. Because he refused to drop it, they also filed for charges of assault and a hate crime. They were processed fairly quickly and released on bail.

Jack was the one to come and pick them up and post bail. It was a relatively quiet ride to the Dunkin Donuts Arena and to Georgia Martin’s office. Tater refused to look ashamed and proudly regaled everyone with how brave his husband was for punching a homophobic asshat in the face. Which led to a majority of the staff trying to give Bitty fistbumps and high fives, much to Bitty’s chagrin.

When they made it to the office, Georgia took one look at him and shook her head. “Well, that’s one heck of a shiner. We have PR here to spin the crap out of this mess.”

Katya showed up a few minutes later and grabbed Bitty’s chin and twisted his head from side to side. “Don’t bother wearing makeup to cover it. Is better if you show it off. Public will have sympathy for figure skater getting punched in own home.” She glanced over at Tater and gave him a quick once-over. “And you not killing politician?”

“Police officer in way. Then Bitty is getting him before I can pull arm back.”

She sniffed and gave him a glare. “You are taking care of my Eric. He may be strong, but needs someone smart enough to know when to not get in trouble. Are you understanding me?”

Tater nodded, then ducked his head to stare at his shoes.

George looked the situation over and made sure to get several photographs of Tater hugging Bitty and one particular one of Tater kissing Bitty’s nose, clearly showing the bruise off. Before the press had managed to get hold of the story, the Falconers organization had released their own.

**_Homophobic State Representative Punches Two-Time Olympic Gold Medalist in Own Home_ **

_State Representative Bill Wickers (R-26) assaulted the husband of Falconers forward Alexei Mashkov. He claimed that glass fell from their balcony and insisted that police investigate. When he knocked on their door, he verbally accosted Mashkov and then threw a punch. Instead of hitting the Falconers’ forward, he hit his husband, Eric Bittle, two-time Olympic gold medalist. He then proceeded to yell at them and used a slur against them in the doorway of their apartment. Eric Bittle defended himself, stepping back between his husband and Bill Wickers. It is probably for the best considering how many fights Mashkov has won on the ice._

Georgia smirked to herself. She made sure that they included several of Tater’s best fights. And then she found that the nosy neighbor across the hall had recorded the whole thing on her phone. She happily paid the woman for the footage and included it with the article, too.

Once damage control was well underway, she looked up house listings in Marty’s gated community. No need for this disaster to repeat itself. And no need for people to go banging on their door now that their address would be spread all over the news. Besides, she was convinced at this point that they could use some supervision. She just hoped Marty was up to the task.


End file.
